


Pictures

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: 360FromTheEdge, M/M, Photography, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: During the 360 tour, Edge posts a lot of photos on twitter, but the ones he doesn't post are better.





	Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ Sept. 15, 2010. Inspired by twitter.com/360FromTheEdge.

Half the time Adam didn’t even realize that Edge was taking pictures at all. He’d always been something of a shutterbug, but the Blackberry allowed him to be unobtrusive, never shoving a lens in one’s face or startling with a flash. It was only when Larry referred to it one lunchtime that he belatedly realized it was a _project_.

“Wait, so you’re posting these pictures online?”

“Just a kind of … visual tour diary,” Edge said. “No commentary, just snapshots.”

“But … I mean, what sort …”

Larry, grinning, read his misgivings. “I’m sure he’s not showing your toilet habits to the world.”

“Like a photo a day kind of thing?” Bono asked.

“Yes, well, no, it’s more like ...” He glanced apologetically at Adam. “I upload them in batches when I have the time, really. So it might be a couple one day, and then a few days later, a half dozen. Just depends.”

Adam said, “Can we see them?”

“Oh, of course, you don’t have to be a member or anything. It’s just a daily feed … may I?” Edge appropriated Bono’s laptop, and shortly they were looking over his shoulder. “See, they’re not really even of us, or … it’s just whatever catches my eye.”

“You seem to have a fetish with dirty cups and plates,” Larry observed dryly.

“Wait, click on … oh, I like that one.”

“You’re _in_ that one, Bono,” Adam smiled tolerantly. “What’s the address of this, Edge? I’ll look in occasionally.”

Edge was right, they were just interesting sights or angles, things that caught his eye, or backstage views. Sometimes one of his bandmates would appear, but not as often as one might think.

Adam found himself more aware of the picture-taking nevertheless. This made him rather self-conscious for a while, but his picture was taken literally hundreds of times a day anyway. He led a documented life; they all did.

After a bit, he noticed two things.

The first was that Edge seemed to be taking more pictures of _him_ , Adam, than of anyone or anything. Never anything objectionable, like pictures of him eating. Nothing too intimate – he’d wondered, since Edge saw him undressed or half dressed all the time and they often went in and out of the loo when the other one was showering or brushing his teeth or whatever, but he never noticed Edge sneaking or spying.

Not that this surprised him; he knew how considerate Edge was and that he valued their intimacy, their easy, comfortable domesticity, just as much as Adam did.

The second thing he noticed was that, indeed, Edge hardly posted pictures of his bandmates at all. Adam more often caught him eying their breakfast tray speculatively or fishing the Blackberry out of his pocket while looking out the airplane window.

Which led Adam to the question: What was Edge doing with all the pictures he took of Adam? Was there a purpose?

“Not really,” Edge said, looking a little embarrassed, running his fingers around the rim of his water glass. “I don’t keep them _all_ , it’s just … I guess … I just like taking pictures of you.”

“Oh, Edge.” Adam shook his head, grinning.

“You’re _hot_ ,” Edge said, apparently trying for a Paris Hilton impression, which tickled Adam’s funnybone far more than the quality of the impersonation warranted. Because it was Edge, and because it was really _such_ a bad impression.

“You must have quite a portfolio by now,” he speculated when he’d settled down again.

“I’ve tried to keep out of your face,” Edge said. “Make sure you have clothes on most times.”

“I know. I noticed. Pass me the juice?”

Edge did. “If you want to see them, I’ll put together – I’ll make you a folder. Like of the best ones.”

He was intrigued. Not out of plain vanity alone; more like curiosity, to see how Edge saw him, or what he thought a good picture of Adam was. It _was_ flattering. He always wanted Edge to like his looks.

A few days later Edge showed him. “I put this folder on your desktop. And it’s password-protected so nobody else can accidentally stumble into it. And … there’s another folder inside that; look at it after, okay?”

He couldn’t help smiling, imagination jumping around. “Okay.”

Edge left him alone to look. It _was_ intriguing, trying (yet again) to see through Edge’s eyes, to figure out why particular photos were included. There were a few of him at different soundchecks; he didn’t see a common thread at first, except good lighting and sharp focus, until he realized he was wearing a particular shirt in all of them. _Hah. Duly noted._

Otherwise, it was the same activity Edge saw him engaged in every day. Perhaps that was part of it, he thought – Edge thought of him like that, or was used to seeing him, feet planted, head tilted, body and instrument leaning together.

There was one of him reading a book on the jet; light from the window spilled onto the page like liquid, and illuminated his face as well. A couple of him in the tunnels, on his way in or out, carrying a bag here and a raincoat there. One he remembered because the room had been cold; he was sitting with a cup of tea curled between his hands, and Edge had taken the picture during conversation. Then one – _sneaky_ – of him in a bathrobe leaning over the sink to look closely at himself in the mirror, one hand tentatively raised almost to his face. He didn’t know what he was doing – checking his shave, assessing his wrinkles – but it was an intimate moment; he saw why Edge had included it.

The last few were of Adam asleep. In one, Edge had clearly gotten out of the bed to take the picture; the cover was turned back around an empty space, the pillow obviously dented. Adam was curled around that space. In another, in a different place, Edge had simply taken the picture in bed; you could see the shape of his legs and feet under the blankets, though the picture was mostly of Adam’s shoulder. A third, Adam was sprawled on his stomach, bare to the waist. He was relieved to see that at least he wasn’t drooling in any of these last.

The other folder was labeled “for you.”

Knowing Edge, he hardly knew what to expect. At first, looking at the smaller size, he thought they were like the previous ones of him sleeping. But when he enlarged each one, he saw there was more to it. In one, he was sprawled on his back, asleep and bare to the waist again, the sheet tented tellingly over his groin. He gave a brief laugh at that one. Next, in the same bed with the same sheet wrapped around his waist, he lay on his side, the curve of his ass clearly defined by the thin, clinging fabric.

“Uh, oh,” he murmured as the next one opened. Adam leaning in, reaching in through a shower door, probably to feel the temperature of the water. Bare naked, one hand leaning on the door, arm bent, the angle of his thigh _mostly_ figleafing him, his face and one arm blurry behind patterned glass. Predictably, the next one was taken through the patterned glass; one could make out the shape of him, that he was naked, and – Adam felt his face warm – that he appeared to be touching himself. “Probably washing,” he muttered unconvincingly.

Next, one of him with a towel around his waist, bent over a sink, cupping water in his hands. He wasn’t naked, but even he could see that there was something erotic about the picture. Whether it was the towel sitting low on his hips, or his face and hands and the dripping water, or exactly what, he didn’t know.

His favorite was taken from behind, him standing nude in a hotel bathroom, leaning forward and looking into the mirror. It was much like the earlier photo in a similar position, but minus the robe. He seemed to be looking at the camera; how had Edge hidden? What he liked was the subtle views of his hip, but also, in the mirror, how the angle showed him down to the pubic area in front. You could _just_ not see his genitals. And the light was magnificent in that one. It was one of those pictures that you had to study to determine whether it was in black and white or not.

“Like them?” Edge asked softly.

Adam looked up; Edge was at the door, looking hesitant.

“Yes, but I hardly know how to explain why,” he answered with a smile.

Edge came in and sat on the sofa with him. “Vanity?”

“Well, doubtless, but it’s more than that,” he murmured, looking at that next-to-last one again, the one with the dripping water. “It’s not just that it’s nice to see really good pictures of me – you see so many hasty, or blurry, or whatever, shots … but it’s more than that, it’s …” He clicked forward to the last one again.

Edge had leaned close to see what he was looking at. “F-I-N-E, _fine_ ,” he spelt out, making them both laugh.

“It’s that – there’s something different about pictures taken by someone who loves you,” Adam said. “It’s not just seeing myself through your eyes, or knowing you, that you …” He felt Edge’s hand squeeze his knee while he tried to find the words. “It’s how much I love _you_ , and that you took these, loving _me_ … bloody hell, I can’t quite explain myself.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” Edge said, smiling. “That’s just how I felt, how I feel, taking pictures of you.” As he spoke, he took the laptop from Adam and set it aside, then moved even closer. “There’s nothing I’d rather look at, and then to be able to capture some particular moments, when you’re looking … as gorgeous as usual, but in a rather different way, I suppose … well, it’s thrilling.”

“Let’s see how else you can be thrilled.”

Some time passed, and if the naked man in the picture on the screen who appeared to be looking at the camera saw what they did next, he didn’t tell.


End file.
